Bite the Biscuit (A Barkery & Biscuits Mystery)

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Happy opening day,” shouted the woman, Myra Ethman, in a sing-song sarcastic tone that sent a tendril of dismay creeping up my spine.

  “We hope you close tomorrow,” called her husband Harris.

  And I wondered if the party was already over.

  TWO

  MYRA SLITHERED HER WAY through the crowd and reached me first. She was slender to the point of near emaciation, although I bet she considered herself gorgeously svelte. Her brown hair, filled with gleaming highlights, formed a wispy cap surrounding a face so perfect that I had no doubt she’d availed herself of cosmetic surgery at least once. She was, after all, at least fifteen years older than me.

  I made myself smile at her, although I knew the curve of my mouth wasn’t reflected in my dubious eyes. “Thanks for your good wishes, Myra,” I said. She had, after all, said something positive about my party, even though I knew it had been sarcasm.

  At least Harris had been genuine in his statement. But I had no intention of closing tomorrow or anytime in the next zillion years.

  Harris had followed Myra over to me and now edged his way in front of her, confronting me.

  Like Councilman Les, Harris was an Ethman, a member of one of the town’s most wealthy and privileged families. His eyes looked similar to Les’s, turned down at the edges; on Les, those eyes appeared a bit wistful and invited people to say something nice to make him feel better, but on Harris, they looked angry and challenging. Or maybe I was just reading the obvious mood in his eyes today.

  “Would you like a sample of my treats to take home to Davinia, Harris?” I asked sweetly.

  As with most people I knew in this town, I’d met Harris and Myra when they brought their pets into the veterinary clinic. They owned a black standard poodle named Davinia and a Manx cat named Beauregard. I wondered how the animals got along together in the same household, but maybe they’d formed an alliance to deal with their nasty owners.

  “No, thank you.” Myra was the one who responded. She almost sounded polite—until she continued. “All of the dog treats and other products at Knob Hill Pet Emporium are of much superior quality to any of your poisonous little pieces of garbage here.” She made a face like she had just ingested dog feces.

  I wanted to slap that face. More realistically, I wanted to shout at her to get out of here. She didn’t have to come to my opening party. And I thought I’d made it clear enough, when she and her nasty husband had appeared to oppose my application for a permit to remodel this building, that they weren’t any more welcome here than I was now at the pet store they’d established a couple of years ago.

  But Myra was Neal’s boss. She was the executive manager of the Knobcone Heights Resort. I hadn’t turned around to see how he was reacting to this conversation, but I was sure my usually devil-may-care brother was listening closely with his teeth gritted.

  Before I allowed myself to show any reaction, I glanced at the unrelated guests surrounding us. Several faces looked horrified. Others seemed caught up in fascination, as if the people enjoyed fights and were waiting for the next ugly round. A few who held their dogs in their arms appeared to have turned, so that if the situation came to blows their beloved small family members would not get creamed. I knew most of these people and understood their loving concern.

  Those friends and neighbors, more than anyone else except Neal, caused me to take a few deep breaths and order myself to calm down. I wanted pet owners to come here for the benefit of their fur-kids. I wanted them to try, and then buy, treats that I’d been baking the past few years for the patients at the veterinary clinic, which included products for dogs with special dietary needs. The vet patients had been my guinea-dogs, and it was because they and their owners seemed so happy with my products that I was now sharing them with the world.

  Or at least the world of Knobcone Heights.

  I decided to show everyone what a good sport I was. “You know, Harris, I won’t be in direct competition with the Pet Emporium,” I said. “I have a limited supply of products, and they’re not the same kinds of things you carry anyway.”

  I’d visited the Emporium several times in the past, while I was still welcome, to get stuff for Biscuit—and to check it out. Like Barkery and Biscuits, it fronted on the Knobcone Heights town square, but it was at the opposite side from my two shops on Summit Avenue, and therefore a couple of blocks away. Both were in the town’s premier retail area. The Emporium was one among many upscale establishments that catered to wealthy tourists and the town’s elite.

  The rest of the people around here, including me, drove out of town a ways to some of the nice but cheaper strip malls. One of the chain pet supply companies maintained a store there, and they too carried brands of healthy foods.

  “We sell treats,” Harris huffed back. “Better than this junk.”

  “There’s nothing in the area—no, in the world, the universe—that’s better for dogs than my home-baked dog treats,” I retorted, through gritted teeth that I bared as I pretended to smile. “Anyway, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I can assure you there’s room in this town for both of our stores. But I think you’ve worn out your welcome here. Hadn’t you better go back to your emporium to see if there are any customers there you can browbeat—I mean, wait on?”

  I turned my back on him, but not before I noticed his nasty frown.

  Myra had maneuvered away, and she was standing in the corner of the Barkery talking to Les and Billi.

  Even though Harris was the born Ethman of that couple, when they’d married Myra had apparently donned the cloak of eliteness and done her best to outdo the blood-related kin. Harris might have the money, but Myra appeared to have the brains. I’d heard that she had been the one to purchase the Emporium, to give Harris something to do besides spend their kids’ inheritance. Their human kids, that is. They had two, a girl and a boy. The girl was off at college and the boy was still in high school—the best private preppy school in the San Bernardino Mountains.

  I noticed that Judy, behind the counter, appeared a little frazzled, so I went over to help her, which also got me far away from Harris.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered to me. “But we need some more sample treats out here.”

  “You’re right,” I said, recognizing that my nasty exchange with the Ethmans had delayed my retrieving more treats. I moved around Judy to duck into the kitchen and brought out a second tray full of my dog treat samples—some small, crunchy training rewards that contained beef, yams, and more. I began moving slowly through the crowd, allowing people to take more than one of the treats, particularly acquaintances who had their dogs with them. I chatted casually with most of them, sharing smiles and thanking them for their good wishes.

  When I got near the corner where Myra stood, apparently holding court since she was the only one talking, I felt myself freeze.

  She was continuing to act as nasty as her husband, while apparently trying—unsuccessfully—to maintain a civil demeanor. “But this place looks so tacky now, don’t you think?” She was looking at Billi with an expression that suggested the kind of disgust she might feel at finding a tick on her dog. “I mean, I still don’t know why our city granted a building permit for this remodel.”

  She did know, though. Despite her fighting it, my permit had gone through. I assumed she was now criticizing Les and Billi, as representatives of the town, just as she had criticized me.

  “I thought from the first that dividing one store into two was a bad idea,” she continued, “and even the appearance of this poor quality remodeling job proves it. Maybe it would have been better if she had at least hired locally, a really good contractor like our own Walt Hainner. He and his crew just do wonders around here, both constructing new buildings and remodeling. But, no, Ms. Kennersly had to take her building permit and wave it at a lesser contractor, one of those outfits from Big Bear.” She said the latter as if she was speaking about some inner city slum instead of a very nice neighboring town in the same mountain rang
e.

  Fortunately, Billi just smiled and said nothing while Les rolled his eyes. “You know, Myra,” Les said, “we Ethmans have occasionally hired contractors from Big Bear. In fact, didn’t you find one you liked when you and Harris remodeled your house two years ago? What was his name? J—”

  “Never mind that,” Myra snapped. She must have recognized that her audience had expanded beyond the two City Council members, and also beyond me. “I just don’t like the look of this place. But the worse thing is the crap—er, products—she’s selling here. I mean, homemade dog biscuits. I just hope our poor pets aren’t poisoned. I’m certainly not taking any of this home to my Davinia.”

  Why was her attitude so over the top? Because I was an upstart, a relative newcomer to Knobcone Heights, and not a member of one of its top-echelon families? Because she really was concerned about the potential competition to her pet shop? Some other reason I couldn’t even guess? I had no idea, but I had to deal with it.

  It was time for me to step into this conversation. “You absolutely don’t have to take any samples, Myra. But that doesn’t mean Davinia hasn’t tried them. I’ve been baking treats for our patients at the veterinary clinic for a while now, and sending some home with them when appropriate. Didn’t you bring Davinia in a few months ago when she’d apparently eaten something in your yard that didn’t agree with her? She’d been throwing up, and after making sure there was no indication she’d eaten anything poisonous, Dr. Kline prescribed some meds and also sold you some of the bland and soothing treats I developed to help our patients with tummy problems.”

  “Well, that’s different from giving them garbage made from untried recipes like the stuff here, and—”

  “They. Are. Not. Garbage.” Okay, I was losing my cool now. I took a deep breath. “And I have tried them out, on Biscuit, my friends’ dogs, and our veterinary patients. As I’ve said, they’re all made with only the finest ingredients and no preservatives like most of the crap sold in your store. And—”

  I made myself stop. I had previously taken the position that there was room for both establishments here, and I intended to continue on the high road, not criticizing the Ethmans despite what they were trying to do to me. “Sorry,” I said. “I know you only sell foods and treats made by reputable manufacturers. It’s just that my homemade products are even better. But there are fewer of them. They might even complement what you’re selling. So, like I said, our two businesses can coexist.”

  “Like hell they can!” Myra took a step toward me, her hands clenched at her waist into fists.

  I felt my eyes widen. I might despise this woman and the malicious position she was taking, but I didn’t really want to fight with her. Not physically, at least.

  Before I was attacked, though, my dear boss wended his way through the crowd.

  Dr. Arvus Kline—known by all as Arvie—was in his sixties. He looked even older, with all that remained of his hair, silvery wisps, hanging over a face filled with deep wrinkles. “Carrie, my dear, how wonderful this is. Congratulations on opening your store.” He reached out toward where I still held the new treat tray—now nearly empty—and took a couple, then rubbed my upper arm in a short, friendly pat.

  “Thanks, Arvie.” I gave him a warm and genuine smile. I owed so much to him. He had allowed me to experiment with giving my treats to his patients, for one thing. Of course, we’d always talked about each dog’s needs and the ingredients I was using and why, so he’d basically helped me work out some of my recipes.

  In addition, he had funded my remodeling of the building into two stores. I’d only borrowed the money from him, of course, and would start paying it back with interest next month. But getting a bank loan would have been iffy and a lot more expensive.

  Arvie had also allowed me to keep my job at the vet clinic part-time. I’d wanted to make sure I maintained an income as I started my new venture. Plus I loved being a vet tech.

  But not as much as I loved opening my own business.

  “Are all these the same kinds of treats you’ve distributed around our clinic?” he asked.

  “Pretty much, but with some additional ones too.” I glanced around with a smile, knowing that people around us were still eavesdropping. They might find this upbeat conversation less exciting than the ones I’d had with the Ethmans, but this was the kind of stuff I really wanted them to hear. “They’re all made with the ingredients that you and I talked about in advance, and since you’re one heck of a veterinarian, I knew I was doing things right.” Since not all the people here would know who Arvie was—townsfolk, yes, tourists, no—I’d made sure to mention his job. His credentials lending credence to my work couldn’t be beat.

  “Hi, Arvus. Hi, Carrie.” Another vet had just joined us.

  Dr. Reed Storme had only started practicing at Arvie’s clinic a couple of months ago. Although I was still employed there part time, I’d been here at my new shops a lot, supervising the work, and hadn’t been around the veterinary hospital as much as before. I’d had coffee with Reed several times and wouldn’t have minded getting to know the new vet better. I’d heard rumors of his background in the military. He looked like one hunky guy. But even more important, I had observed his caring attention to his patients, including a dog who’d been hit by a car, and I believed he was a really good doctor.

  For the moment, I just returned his greeting. I also answered a few questions about why I’d done this—loud enough for those around us to hear. “As you know, I opened Barkery and Biscuits partly because I love dogs and want to treat them specially, not only medically the way I do as a vet tech at your clinic.”

  Reed nodded. There was a strange expression on his handsome yet somewhat rugged face. Maybe I’d said too much and he thought I believed him stupid, which I didn’t.

  I glanced around. “I just want to make sure our guests here know that too,” I explained. “Anyhow, my friend Brenda Anesco ran her Icing on the Cake bakery out of this place before I divided it into two shops. I think I mentioned to you that she has to move away to care for her ailing mother and was looking for someone to take over her bakery, and I got the idea of keeping it going yet starting Barkery too.”

  Arvie nodded while Reed’s dark brows rose in apparent interest. He had rich, wavy black hair and just a hint of a five o’clock shadow, which made sense since it was late in the day.

  I talked a little more about my idea for the Barkery and my love of dogs, and about putting together my recipes, some of which I’d already described before. But Arvie and Reed hadn’t heard it. Neither had everyone around us. In fact, I’d seen Neal, still in charge of Biscuit, working on increasing the flow of visitors so that as many were coming in as leaving. Which meant I now had a new group of people near me, some with dogs. I would have to get a third tray of samples from the kitchen soon.

  I also needed to duck into Icing and make sure all was going well. While the Barkery might be my baby, Icing was now a beloved stepchild. Plus, despite some decrease in its business lately, it was the tried-and-true part, and I had to make sure I took good care of it. It was a critical part of my exciting new venture.

  I finished my current spiel, glad about the interest on the faces around me.

  “Thanks for coming,” I told their owners. “I’ll be back here with more samples soon, but I need to visit the bakery next door.”

  “I need to get back to the clinic,” Arvie told me.

  Impulsively, I gave him a hug. “I’ll be there for my shift tomorrow afternoon as promised.” I glanced at Reed, wondering if he’d be there then. No matter.

  But Reed said, “I’ll see you then.”

  Which made me smile.

  At least until I glanced at the corner where the Ethmans still stood talking with their uncle and Billi Matlock. Why hadn’t they left already? They didn’t like my place, and I didn’t like their being here.

  As if she felt my glance, Myra looked in my direction and scowled.

  Maybe I needed to give her a hint
. I maneuvered my way through the crowd toward them. “I’m so delighted that you’re still here,” I lied, raising my voice so people could hear. “It shows how much you support my new venture.”

  “You know we hate it,” Myra responded icily.

  “Then you are very welcome,” I said sweetly, smiling all the more, “to leave.”

  THREE

  I GESTURED GRANDLY, LIKE a TV hostess, in the direction of the door, then turned away quickly without confirming whether my now-even-more-unwelcome guests were heading toward it. It was time for me to go into the kitchen.

  Leaving the mostly happy rumblings of my customers behind me for a second, I stepped into the Barkery side of the kitchen and approached the center dividing shelves to fill another tray with sample dog treats. I headed back just long enough to lay the tray down on the counter near where Judy was working the cash register. Then I hurried into Icing.

  This shop was just as crowded with guests as the Barkery, and I knew some of them here too. I was thrilled! People were shoulder-to-shoulder even as my other assistant Dinah maneuvered her way among them with a tray of human treats: chocolate chip and sugar cookies and mini-scones and more.

  Brenda was still there too, schmoozing with our guests, handing out samples of our sweets, saying farewell to those she knew. I decided just to observe before stepping in and showing that I was now the boss—at least, Dinah’s boss. When and if Brenda would ever return was still up in the air. I’d promised Brenda she could always come back and help me—knowing that would only happen if her mother didn’t survive.

  In any case, I’d officially purchased her business, thanks to Arvie’s loan.

  I crossed my arms and rested my back against the jamb of the door into the kitchen, grinning as I observed. Dinah seemed in her glory, giving out the samples, smiling and encouraging people to taste and then buy some of the people-focused baked goods.